Pater Familias
by ApeUnit
Summary: Judge Roebuck travels to Brit-Cit to settle a family affair, but is soon recruited into a deadly contest between two warring factions... It is set in the universe brought to us through Dredd 3D


**Pater Familias**

 **Black Atlantic Terminus, August 2089**

 **1700 hours:**

Judge Frederick Roebuck peered up from the news headline on his electronic tablet. An attractive young woman had entered the zoom train compartment and sat down opposite Roebuck. She was in her early 20s, about the same age as he. She wore a short dress that came down to her thighs with a retro geometric pattern. The very height of fashion back in Brit-Cit, as she was on her way home. Her eyes were the brightest hue of emerald and her hair was a vibrant and flowing shade of red. She caught Roebuck's attention, he liked red.

One who looked at Roebuck could not immediately tell he was a Judge. He was dressed in an expensive synthi-cotton grey two piece suit and a light blue button down oxford shirt with the top two buttons unbuttoned. Concealed from view, he had a shoulder holster under the jacket for his Walther PP85. This was his off-duty piece that chambered a 9mm round.

The zoom lurched forward, as she sat down. This was the Silver 65 Express, the eastbound service to Brit-Cit that crossed beneath the Black Atlantic Ocean in a vacuum sealed tunnel. Roebuck had already settled in for the 53 minute trip. There was barely time to start and watch a television show before the train accelerated to 5,000 miles per hour and traveled the distance between Mega-City One and Brit-Cit.

"So, what do you do?" the girl asked Roebuck in a Brit-Cit accent.

"Unemployed, just like the rest of the city," he replied smugly. His eyes were still focused on the tablet, but his attention on her.

"No no, someone dressed as handsomely as you are cannot be earning a living on the welf."

"You're right, my cover is blown. I'm a Judge."

She giggled at Roebuck's humor; she did not actually believe he was a Judge. He had not meant to be entirely serious. Roebuck laid his tablet down and switched seats, so he now he was seated next to her. The compartment they were in was on a carriage that was part of the rolling stock from the Brit-Cit side of the tunnel. Therefore, all the seats faced each other and were in their own separate compartments. This differed from the Mega-City One side's arrangements, where all seats faced forward and an aisle ran down the center. Roebuck put his arm over the top of her seat and behind her. She giggled some more and he continued.

 **000**

 **Paddington Terminus, Brit-Cit**

 **2300 hours:**

The train slowly pulled into the platform. Roebuck stood up to adjust his shirt and fix his disheveled attire. He buttoned his trousers and zipped up his fly. The girl moved from where she had been kneeling on the seats to a seated position. She hastily pulled her dress down and took out a small mirror to check her appearance, giggling the entire time. Roebuck noticed the train come to a stop. He quickly reached for his travel duffel in the overhead compartment and grabbed the tablet. Before the girl could divert her attention to him, to ask for contact information, Roebuck was gone.

Roebuck stepped out from the carriage and onto the platform. He hastily made his way toward the Immigration and Passport Control checkpoint. At the checkpoint, two lines diverged to the respected Customs Agents. One sign read "Brit-Cit Citizens" the other, simply "All Others". Roebuck was tempted for a minute to go through the Brit-Cit line; he held the right passport and had citizenship. In the end, he chose the "Other" line. He carried a firearm and needed to enter Brit-Cit under Judicial Business, or at least the pretense of Judicial Business. The line was long and choked with all the norms, creeps, and fatties from Mega-City One. It was nice to see muties struck from that list, though. Soon, Roebuck was at the front of the line.

"Next!" an aged Brit-Cit voice called.

The Judge moved up to the counter and calmly presented his badge and Justice Department credentials.

"Reason for visit?" the Customs Officer barked.

"Subpoenas," Roebuck said, as he lifted an overstuffed folder into view.

"Any firearms?"

"Yes."

"Departmental issue or personal?"

"Departmental," Roebuck lied. Customs Officials rarely cross-referenced departmental issued firearms with ones carried by Judges.

"And why aren't you in uniform!?" the Official scolded.

"I find it easier travel without that." Roebuck said. "Draws less attention when handing out the subpoenas. People tend to get a little crazy when they see a foreign Judge show up and hand them a subpoena. Mostly, the subpoenas are for civil matters, a Brit-Cit tourist got run over by a roadster or food poisoning at a Hottie House. These are just to tell them that their case is ready to be heard."

The Customs Officer lost interest in Roebuck and stamped the entry visa. Roebuck took his credentials and the visa, and made his way into the main Terminus. He was now in Brit-Cit. The Terminus where he now stood was covered by a large curved glass roof, which covered the vast atrium. The design of the Terminus was a hybrid of modern construction and the Victorian architecture of the latter 19th Century. The center of the atrium contained a series of benches and kiosks for the many travelers who passed through every day. Ticket counters and shops lined the perimeter. Roebuck stared up at the large glass roof. Tiny specks of water collided and then streaked off to the side. It was raining, as usual, in Brit-Cit.

Roebuck scouted for the exit, where one could go to hail a cab, or simply access the street. He made his way toward the large doors to the outside when he caught a glimpse of two men. The two were dressed in heavy overjacks, the kind Brit-Cits wore when it rained. These two could not be more opposite. The first was on the shorter side, standing only five feet and five inches tall. He had a crooked grin on his face; his hair was fashioned in the disconnected undercut style. His nose had a white bandage tapped across the bridge, a suggestion of a recent altercation. By contrast, the man accompanying him stood well over six feet tall and was rather heavy set. He was bald and held the resemblance of an ogre. The larger one held a small white placard that simply read, "J. Roebuck".

It was clear that the pair were waiting for Roebuck's arrival, sent to retrieve him from the Terminus. Roebuck, however, had no intention of travelling anywhere with these individuals. He turned quickly to shield himself from their view.

"Oi," the shorter man shouted in his cockney tone.

Roebuck pretended not to notice. The two men approached and pushed their way through the crowd of travelers and tourists. They had recognized Roebuck. Before Roebuck could calculate an escape route, he felt a hand grasp his shoulder. He turned abruptly to see it belonged to the large one.

"You're J. Roebuck?" the short one asked. "The name's Karter. Boss sent us to give you a ride. He's expecting you."

"I'm perfectly capable of finding my own way," Roebuck smugly replied.

"He said you'd say something like that. You are to come with us," said Karter.

The two were not about to take "no" for an answer. Karter nodded toward his associate. The large man opened his overjack slightly to reveal a Tek-10 machine pistol, which was slung under the shoulder. He quickly closed his coat. Roebuck took a second to formulate things in his head. He knew he was decently quick on the draw. He would have to assume the shorter man was armed, as well. If he drew his own piece, he would want to put a bullet point blank into the head of the shorter man. He figured the large ogre was slow and would take an extra second to react, just enough time for Roebuck to train his pistol and fire.

It was tempting and the weight of that Walther tucked under his jacket increased with the anticipation. Roebuck came to realize, while he could effectively pull it off, he would be stuck for an undefined amount of time explaining his actions to the Brit-Cit Justice Department. Roebuck shoved his travel duffel into the arms of the shorter man.

"Right!" Roebuck said. "Let's be off then. Can't keep the Boss waiting."

Roebuck then moved past the two and headed toward the exit at a brisk pace. The two hurried to catch up. They were all soon through the doors and outside in the city. The rain fell hard and blanketed the street. At the curb sat a four door luxury BCMW sedan with a driver already seated inside, idling the car.

"That one's ours," Karter spoke.

Roebuck followed Karter who opened the door and allowed the Judge to enter. Once everyone was in the car, the driver slammed on the accelerator and the vehicle sped off. The driver maneuvered the vehicle through the moderately heavy traffic at a high speed. Karter was seated next to Roebuck, and was quickly becoming a nuisance. He kept giving Roebuck a crooked grin. This did not concern Roebuck, it merely annoyed him.

"So you're a Megger?" Karter began. "You know from the Big Meg. Hear there's a lot of opportunity there, for us gangster types. I hear you can buy off most Judges there. They're all happy to turn a blind eye, I hear."

The man was unaware of the fact Roebuck was a Judge. Roebuck found it humorous actually, being that Karter's employer also knew he was a Judge and clearly did not mention that. The "J. Roebuck" on the placard had been the Boss's clever way of greeting the Judge.

Karter then began to brag, to Roebuck, about all the people he had killed. Roebuck became more irritated by Karter. After about forty minutes of travel on the cross district sped-way, they had arrived at their destination.

 **000**

 **Ruxton Towers, Brit-Cit**

 **Midnight:**

The car passed by the front of the high-rise complex and turned to enter the underground garage. The Ruxton Towers were ornate twin towers; lavishly decorated con-apts that only the well to do of this district could afford to reside in. They were owned by the quasi-legitimate front corporation controlled by one of Brit-Cits most powerful crime bosses. A metal security door opened for the vehicle, as it descended the ramp below street level. The driver pulled up to the lift and discharged the passengers. Roebuck, Karter, and the large man, who Karter identified as Dim, made their way to the lift. Once it arrived, they all boarded the lift and sped to the upper floors. Karter used the time on the lift to brag about additional exploits. The group exited and made their way down a long, nicely appointed hallway. Soon, they were in a waiting room. There was a man seated on a couch in the waiting room. He stood up as the group appeared.

"Let the Boss know we're here," Karter snapped.

The man pushed open a door to an adjoining room and disappeared from sight. Roebuck started to follow the man to the door. Karter stepped quickly into Roebuck's path and held out his hand.

"Hold on Megger," Karter said. "You need to be checked for weapons. Can't have any business associates meet the Boss before they've been frisked!"

Karter moved forward to begin a pat down. Roebuck rolled his eyes in disgust. He had no intention to comply with the search and he knew there would be no consequence if he failed to go along. In a quick motion, Roebuck clenched a fist, wound up, and delivered a punch. The fist collided with Karter's left cheek and part of the nose. Karter recoiled from the dizziness and took a few steps back. Blood began to run from his nose.

"You fucking wanker!" Karter shouted. "You broke me fucking nose, damn it was almost healed."

Karter clenched his nose while blood soaked his fingers. He quickly turned to Dim.

"Don't just stand there you sod," Karter barked. "Lay this wanker out!"

Dim did not move, however. He had no desire to take part in any altercation that Karter instigated. Karter was hotheaded and prone to start fights. Many were reluctant to rush to his aid.

"Karter!" a voice shouted. "What the bloody hell is going on here!?"

A man emerged from the doorway. He was well dressed in a very expensive suit, clearly one worn by someone of position and wealth. The man was tall and looked to be about thirty. He also had a similar build and features as Judge Roebuck. Karter rose to his feet and turned to face the Boss.

"I go to check the bloke," Karter started, as he pointed to Roebuck. "Like you say, everyone comes in needs to be checked."

"Karter, where are you manners?" the Boss spoke in a refined and proper Brit-Cit accent. "Is that any way to welcome my little brother to Brit-Cit?"

Karter felt instantly overcome by embarrassment. He took the opportunity of the Boss turning his attention to Roebuck, as a chance to shirk away.

"Suppose it's good to see you to Warren," Roebuck said to his older brother.

"Thank you gentlemen," Warren Roebuck turned to address the others. "You may retire for the evening."

The others in the waiting room nodded and made for the exit. Karter gathered what was left of his pride before he shuffled off. Roebuck followed his older brother into the office. This was modernly decorated office, Roebuck joked that it looked like everything was made of glass. Behind the large desk, actually made from carbon fiber, was a large window. The lights of Brit-Cit sparkled from the commanding view the office held. Roebuck took a seat in one of the chairs across from the desk. He was surprised when his brother sat down in the chair beside him. He had expected his brother to take his place behind the desk. However, Warren Roebuck wanted to make this a more personable meeting. There was a bottle of pre-war Scotch on the desk, and the older Roebuck poured out two glasses before he sat. The two brothers each took a swig.

"My brother, the Mega-City Judge," Warren said, with some approval in his tone.

"My brother, the gangland kingpin, or are you a corrupt CEO?" Frederick said, with disdain.

"Come now John, there's no need for that."

"Oh for the love of Grud, will you cut it out with the middle name shit. Nobody uses my middle name."

The Judge stood up, as a way to calm himself. He walked over to the large window. With his left forearm pressed against the glass, he leaned forward and gazed out onto the city below. There was a long moment of silence between the two brothers.

"How in hell do you have someone in your employ, who cannot put two and two together?" Frederick said.

"Pardon?" Warren inquired.

"The fucking moron you got, Karter, I think his name was. Holding a sign with my name at the Terminus, but doesn't realize it is also the name of the country's largest manufacturing conglomerate. Please tell me he gets a check that says 'Roebuck Corporation' on it?"

The brothers shared a brief laugh. It was a short lull in the tension between them. After a few moments, however, it had passed. The animosity and contempt Frederick Roebuck held for his brother returned.

"So, why am I here Warren?" Frederick spoke. "Is Juliette using again?"

"I am afraid it may be worse than that," Warren replied.

"Worse!? What the fuck can be worse than our junkie sister doing drugs!?" Fredrick exploded, he slammed his empty glass on the desk.

"She's missing, John. I set her up in a flat, in a nice part of town. She has not been doing any drugs for some time, I have seen to that. I have one of my men check in with her every week, to make sure she is alright. Well, two days ago, I get a call. Her flat was ransacked and she was gone."

"Oh that's just fucking great! You lost our sister, mother would be so proud of you," Frederick snarled.

Warren Roebuck stood up. There was anger and aggression in his face. He lunged toward his younger brother, ready to attack. It was a response to an offense. Before he could land a blow he was able to stop. Warren composed himself as best as he could, but there was no way to fully conceal his rage. Frederick stepped back, he had never seen his older brother, usually the calm and collected one, lash out in this manner.

"She is not the easiest girl to watch over," Warren started. "On top of that, I have the family business to handle, our legacy to carry on. I do not have the luxury of turning my back on it and escaping to Mega-City One."

"I turned my back on you!?" Frederick questioned, as he once again became confrontational. "You're not the one who got cut-off from everyone when the Atomic War started. I spent eleven years in that city, cut off from everyone here, certain you all were dead."

"I am sorry if Brit-Cit did not fare as well as your Mega-City in the aftermath of the Atomic War. We had our little Civil War to deal with. That was no Johnny cake walk."

Frederick Roebuck rubbed his eyes. The day had been an exhausting one for him. He poured himself another drink and quickly drank it down.

"Alright, I get it," Frederick said. "Our sister is missing. You called me to look for her because one of Brit-Cits top crime bosses can't afford to lose face. It makes him look weak if someone can abscond with a member of his family, right out from under his nose. So that's where I come in. You needed someone you can trust. Someone who knows what they're doing and can handle this whole ordeal quietly. Someone who has a personal stake in it and won't fuck things up."

The older Roebuck's face displayed a maniacal grin. The grin a person with a clear ulterior motive gives. He put his arm around his younger brother and filled Fredrick's empty glass, so that it was once again filled.

 **000**

Dim the henchman showed the younger Roebuck to one of the guest rooms, two floors below the level the Boss occupied. The room had the feel and look of any hotel room decorated in the nu-postmodern style. Roebuck nodded to Dim in appreciation for showing him to the room. The henchman made his exit. Roebuck walked over to the window, to a small round table and chair just in front of it. He removed his sidearm from his shoulder holster and pressed the magazine release. The magazine he placed on the table and then he pulled the slide back on the weapon. The chambered round ejected and landed on the table. He placed the round and weapon on the table and sat down. He stared out of the window, at the City that bustled in the night. He reminisced at sight, the city that had once been his. He then drifted off into thought.

It had been a long time since Frederick Roebuck recalled this moment. It was June 12th, 2070, he was five years old and on his first trip to Mega-City One. He was excited to go, but upset the one taking him was the family nanny. The reason for the trip was to see a speech pathologist, the best one in the world was in Mega-City One. The young Roebuck was five years old and still had yet to say a word. The zoom train arrived at the Atlantic Terminus about mid-day. The place seemed to bustle with excitement, the young Roebuck observed. He saw all sorts of people clamor over the ticket office. They appeared to be in a panic and fought over the scarce few seats on the next train out of the city. There were soldiers all over the Terminus, though hopelessly overwhelmed in their effort to maintain order.

The young Roebuck stared down at his wristwatch, curious to see if it automatically switched over time zones. It did and the time on his watch showed 13:00. That is when the sirens began to screech. Everyone began to run, to push, to set to flight. He felt his grip on his nanny loosen and then slip away as he saw her trampled under the crowd. The young Roebuck thought quickly and dashed for cover in a baggage trolley.

He hid there for several hours. He tried his best to drown out the screams, the crashes, and the gunfire. Then he felt a tug on his shirt and was soon lifted up and out of the trolley. Before him stood a tall figure, his face obscured by a helmet, dressed in armor. The rest was a blur for the young Roebuck. He would later be taken to a nearby Sector House, inundated with chaos that accompanied the opening day of the Atomic War. The Mega-Cities had held their own, thanks to the missile defense networks, but the rest of the world was reduced to a radioactive wasteland. Roebuck had only his name, printed on his zoom ticket, stuffed in his pocket, as the sole means of identification. The Justice Department had their hands full with riots and looting, not to mention Brit-Cit had descended into civil war as factions fought over control. The young Roebuck was declared an orphaned child. With the Department of Social Services in shambles and the ranks of the Justice Department depleted, Roebuck, along with every other displaced child in the City, was enrolled in the Academy of Law to become a Judge.

Roebuck sat back in the chair in his guest room. He recalled his time at the Academy, how the focus on his Law and combat studies occupied his time. He soon suppressed his memory of his family and devoted himself completely to the Law. It was not until he was sixteen when he received an electronic letter from the brother he forgot he had. The letter explained Frederick Roebuck had a brother eight years older than he and sister three years his junior. It also stated he was partial heir to a vast industrial weapons conglomerate in Brit-Cit. Through reading, he also learned that during the Civil War that engulfed Brit-Cit, his parents had been executed by the State for manufacturing arms to supply opposing factions. It concluded with a plea that Frederick return to Brit-Cit, that the Civil War had ended and the country was once again safe.

Two years later, Fredrick Roebuck graduated from the Academy of Law and was granted leave to travel to Brit-Cit. He was reunited with the brother and sister he thought were lost to him. The trip soon took a turn when Frederick learned that his brother, Warren, had resorted to organize crime with the family corporation as the legitimate front. Warren had explained it was a necessity in order to protect the family, but Frederick did not believe him. Frederick was further disgusted to learn that the purpose of meeting was to recruit him for his judicial connections. Frederick left the reunion in disgust. Over the next few years, he maintained only minimal contact with his family. He had grown up indoctrinated by the Academy of Law, but this encounter left him with a glimpse of how life truly existed. He saw the world with a new cynical appreciation.

 **000**

Roebuck awoke on the floor of his room, shirtless and his head splitting. The morning sunlight pierced the window in an orange haze. There was a near empty bottle of whisky next to him. In the midst of his reminiscence, the bottle had made its way from a welcome tray placed in his room, to being almost completely consumed. He shuffled over to the bathroom and lifted the toilet seat before he vomited the contents of his stomach. He moved the sink and turned the water on to splash his face. In the mirror, he looked back at his reflection. His muscular body bore witness to his service on the streets. He was covered with scars left from impacts of bullets, knives, and other bits of shrapnel caught and stopped by his flak jacket. There were two unmistakable wound on his chest. Directly in the center in where he had been shot a year ago. There was still the outline of the bullet's entry and the scars from the surgeons who removed it.

Roebuck cleared his head; it was time to focus on the day. In order to accomplish the day's task; he'd first have to look more that part of a denizen of Brit-Cit. He opened a drawer in the bathroom and found an electric trimmer. He used it to shave the hair on the sides and back of his head, but made sure to leave it at length on top. After a shower, he dressed in a fresh casual suit and pulled on a long overjack. With some pomade, he slicked the hair on top of his head straight to the back, in the style common in Brit-Cit. He placed his Walther PP85 into his shoulder holster and stuffed two spare magazines into the overjack's pockets.

 **000**

 **Kensington Cross, Brit-Cit**

 **0900 hours:**

Roebuck had arrived at the lane of row homes in the Kensington Cross area of the Wellington District where Juliette Roebuck had a residence. The area was popular among the more well off young adults of the District, the ones whose parents paid for their lodgings. It was here Warren had bought a house for their sister and paid for all of her living expenses. Frederick stepped out of the auto he had requisitioned from the Tower's garage. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Roebuck observed the row homes; all were neat and well kept. It was obvious the residents here came from money. A vehicle that belonged to a private security firm passed him by, the overweight rental cop gave Roebuck a suspicious look. He noted that the neighborhood was watched, so there was a degree of safety for the residents.

Roebuck decided to let himself into the home that belonged to his sister, number 7781. His brother gave him the spare key. The house was small, but comfortable. It contained the usual clutter that accompanied a twenty-one year old girl. The house appeared to have not been lived in for some time. Roebuck climbed the stairs to his sister's room. Clothes were heaped in piles all over the floor. He had learned that she was messy in nature. He stepped over to the queen size bed that sat about a foot from the ground. The sheets were pulled down and stale food crumbs were mixed in with the covers. He knelt down to examine the bedside table. The table was covered with a few dozen empty condom wrappers. Roebuck deduced it must be multiple partners. He knew Warren would not permit Juliette to have a boyfriend. If there was one, he was not around long before Warren's thugs ran him off.

Roebuck reached for a pair of latex gloves from his pocket and pulled them on. He opened the drawer to the bedside table. Inside were a few bits of megazines that he quickly pulled aside. Beneath the pile was a small metallic box covered with psychedelic designs. He knew what these boxes contained; he had come across so many of them amongst the youth in Mega-City One. He carefully opened the box to reveal the inhaler and a small packet of liquidized syntioum. The syntioum was a hallucinogenic controlled substance that was highly addictive and could cause death if taken in excess. It was commonly known as "ess" by its street slang.

"Christ," Roebuck said to himself. "She is using again."

It was enough. Roebuck shut the box and placed it into his pocket. He stood and walked out of the room. After a short walk, he was outside of the row home and on the street. Directly across was a coffee house where it appeared many of the young persons of the neighborhood frequented. Roebuck entered the dimly lit establishment. The air was choked with the smoke of synti-tobacco cigarettes and putrid synti-café. There was a stage on one side of the room where a disheveled young man recited poetry. This poet was clearly strung out on what could only be syntioum.

Roebuck took a seat at the bar opposite the stage. The attention of everyone there was upon the poet. They seemed to hang onto every word he said, as if it were the purest form of word composition imaginable. That is how Roebuck could tell he was the only sober one in the establishment; the man on stage was barely comprehensible. A young woman with a shaved head seated next to Roebuck turned toward him with an indolent expression on her face.

"He's good," Roebuck said to her, with no effort to conceal his sarcasm.

"His words are orgasmic," she replied.

"I'm a little short on ess, do you know anyone around here who could replenish?"

The young woman leaned back in her chair, almost to the point where she fell out. With her arm extended, she pointed to a man in the corner. This man was dressed in torn bell bottom trousers and wore a tee shirt that read "I LUV MC1" complete with an oversized necktie underneath an unbuttoned overjack. Roebuck made eye contact with the man, who grimaced back with eagerness over the coming transaction. The man was situated in a back corner of the establishment, where he peddled his illicit wares from the shadows. Roebuck made his way over.

"'Undred quid for the eifth," the man said in a rough cockney accent.

Roebuck could hardly contain his chuckle before swung his right fist about and punched the man in the stomach. The man fell forward, as he reacted to the blow. Roebuck moved quickly and grabbed a hold to the man's neck tie. He wrapped the long end of the tie once around the man's neck. With the necktie secure and tight, Roebuck used it to drag the man out of the establishment through the nearby back door into the rear alley. The patrons inside had been far to strung out on their substances to notice.

The two were now in the alley and the man was choking violently. Roebuck released the tie and let the man roll over to cough. When the man seemed to have recovered from the choking fit, Roebuck delivered a forceful kick to the ribcage. The man writhed in pain and curled up, as Roebuck kicked him again. Blood spattered out of the man's mouth. Roebuck bent down and grabbed the man tightly by the tie. He pulled a recent photograph of Juliette from his pocket and thrust it into the man's view.

"Fuck…fuck, fuck, oh fuck," the man whimpered.

"You know her?" Roebuck inquired.

"Look, I…I know the rules. No selling to 'er. I never sold 'er nuffing."

"Then you know her?"

"I know nuffing about what 'appened to 'er.

Roebuck grabbed the man and rolled him onto his back. He planted his knee into the man's gut and pressed down. The knee brought more pain to the already wounded area. He could tell Warren's men had been roughing up the local dealers, making sure none sold to Juliette.

"I never said anything happened to her," said Roebuck. "But what aren't you telling me."

The man became quiet. He knew he had already said too much and anything else said would only further complicate his situation. Roebuck decided to intensify his questioning. He drew his Walther from his shoulder holster and pressed it to the man's forehead.

"If you couldn't tell from my accent," Roebuck started. "I'm not from around here. Didn't you learn anything from school or at least TV? They say us Meggers from the Big Meg are real loose cannons. They say we tend to fly off the handle and pull the trigger in nuclear war or in a situation just like this."

Roebuck pulled the hammer back on the pistol with his thumb. While he knew pulling the hammer back was mechanically pointless, as the trigger action would accomplish this, the act terrified his target. The man wet himself. The smell annoyed Roebuck, but he knew he had broken the man.

"I…I saw the whole fing," the man started. "I was at that coffee 'ouse. It was the other day or week...I don't remember. Some van pulls up and some men get out. Real mean looking blokes. They go in to 'er 'ouse and come out a few minutes more carrying 'er."

"What did they look like?" Roebuck aggressively questioned. "How many of them were there? Did you get a license plate?"

The man was silent. He nodded off, on the verge of losing consciousness. Roebuck released his hold and stood up. He took a few steps and tried to put the account together. In the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of movement. The man had somehow gotten to his feet. There a metallic click. Roebuck recognized the sound and dropped to his knee, as he spun around. The man had drawn a pistol from somewhere on his person and had flipped the safety off. He struggled to aim the weapon and fired blindly, but Roebuck was quick. The Judge took aim and fired two shots directly at the man. The rounds found their target in the man's chest and brought him down. Roebuck had come to the realization that he had underestimated this man and dismissed him as a wannabee rich kid trying to make it as a dealer. He had forgotten to thoroughly search the man for weapons.

The situation began to sink in. Roebuck had killed the man and now needed to dispose of the body. If the Brit-Cit Justice Department were to respond, they could trace the bullets back to Roebuck's gun, as the ballistics were on a shared file in Mega-City One. He knew he could not justify the shooting, not with all the wounds inflicted on the man. In addition, he was operating outside of the pretense he gave for coming to Brit-Cit, a simple serving of summons notices. There was only one option left to Roebuck. It was an option he did not want to pursue, but he had no choice. He pulled the scrambled _Megphone_ that had been provided to him earlier in the day, and called his brother.

 **000**

 **Ruxton Towers, Brit-Cit**

 **1900 hours:**

Frederick Roebuck sat back in the large leather chair on the opposite side of his brother's desk. He nursed a glass of scotch while his brother concluded a conversation with one of his men on the vid-phone.

"It has been handled," Warren said, as he set the vid-phone down on his desk. "That was my man at the incinerator plant the company owns. There's nothing left of the chap you encountered. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, eh?"

Warren grinned, as he swirled his glass of scotch.

"The creep said she was taken," Frederick said. "He couldn't give me any sort of detailed description, other than it was several men that took her. This would have to have been organized. So, the question remains, which mob syndicate hates you the most?"

There was a long silence on the part of Warren. He appeared to be in deep thought. Frederick, though he did not express it openly, was deeply concerned about how the events were proceeding. It appeared ever more likely that in order to rescue Juliette, his involvement in the gangland quarrel would be required. This was an option he wished to avoid.

"No," Warren said to break the silence. "It has to be the Sheffield Firm. It makes sense naturally. This past spring, the Roebuck Corporation stole a very lucrative contract away from them to overhaul nearly four hundred stations on the City's ailing Underground system. There's high level member of the Firm named Kent, he has an office at that Milk Bar. He'd be the one to see. Kent is their idea man; he'd orchestrate something like this. Pity the Firm couldn't graciously take defeat."

"You're a real bastard you know that Warren," Frederick said, downing his drink and slamming his glass down on the table in expectation his brother would fill it again. "I've already seen the outcome of this chat. You're now going to ask me to pay the Sheffield Firm a visit, aren't you? You couldn't risk your official involvement, no no, that could ignite a full blown gang war, and we wouldn't want that. No, there's too much money to be made and a war would only invite the unwanted attention of the Justice Department. So, you need me to take care of it, after all she is my sister too. I may be a Roebuck, but I'm from the Big Meg, I'm a neutral party in the dealing between your organizations. Hell, all I want is my little sister returned, safe and sound. I accomplish the task and provide you with deniability. That is it right?"

Warren could only nod in affirmation. He obligingly refilled his brother's glass. Frederick stared down at the amber liquid in the glass, as it settled. The glass was clenched tightly in his hand. He shook his head and set the glass down without taking a drink.

"I'll do it," Frederick said, there was fire in his eyes as he spoke. "But know this; I'm doing it for her. I'm not doing this for you."

The room felt like it began to close in on Frederick, he felt like he had to leave. He could not stay there. He made his exit in a hurry and left his brother behind. Warren held up his glass to ceremoniously toast Frederick in his efforts.

Roebuck sat in his guest room. He did not feel tired, as he had just swallowed an adrenaline capsule. The energy worked quickly and pulsed throughout his body. There came a knock at the door, and Roebuck moved to answer. In the doorway stood Dim with a heavy duffle under his arm. Roebuck showed him in and the henchman walked toward the bed. Dim placed the duffle on the bed, opened it, and stepped back to exit. Roebuck sifted through the bag and pulled out a compact Nu-Model Kalashnikov assault rifle. He pulled the bolt back to inspect the weapon's chamber and then released it. There was also a Kevlar vest provided that he fitted beneath his overjack.

The importance of the task at hand was all Roebuck focused on. He did his best to put any ulterior motives his brother concocted out of his head. The job was to rescue Juliette, his sister. She had always been good to him. The idea that she was now in pawn in game between Warren Roebuck and his enemies infuriated Frederick. She was a neutral party and taking her like that crossed the line. Frederick would make them regret their actions.

 **000**

 **Burgess Milk Bar,**

 **2300 hours:**

The Burgess Milk Bar was a popular establishment with the hired muscle and mid-level soldiers of the Sheffield Firm. The Bar occupied a large portion of the ground floor of a towering Cit-Block project. It was built and operated by the legitimate front of the Sheffield Firm. The Firm used the Block and bar, as a headquarters to traffic drugs and prostitutes all over the District.

Roebuck stood in an alley across the street from the Bar. He observed the luxury motors arrive and discharge their passengers; the gangsters of the Sheffield Firm. The target before him would not be an easy one. Most of, if not all, of the gangsters inside would be armed. He wished he had his Departmental issued lawgiver at his side. Several well placed high-ex rounds could do the job efficiently. He took a long and final drag from the cigarette in his mouth, before he threw it to the ground and stamped it out.

The sounds of the electronic music inside reverberated on the surrounding buildings. Roebuck pulled the balaclava down over his face and crossed the street. He casually made his way toward the crowd that waited outside of the club. The Nu-Model Kalashnikov was slung vertically under his shoulder. Roebuck had removed the stock in order to shorten the assault rifle further. On his back, the duffle was situated and in it, his spare ammunition. He was within a few yards of the gangsters who walked in the front door, and the less connected, as they waited in line. The crowd did not seem to pay him any mind, nothing about his appearance seemed out of the ordinary. This was Brit-Cit after all.

The moment he had waited for arrived. Roebuck pulled the front of his overjack open to allow access to the Kalashnikov. He gripped the assault rifle in both hands and flipped the safety to the off position. Screams filled the air and were immediately drowned out by the sound of automatic rifle fire. Roebuck indiscriminately mowed down any individual in the entrance to the Bar. The ones who waited in line immediately fled, Roebuck let them run. He had gone with the one hundred round drum magazine, to better satiate the weapon's thirst for ammunition.

Roebuck released the trigger. The front doors were riddled with bullet holes. The last of the queued patrons had dispersed; they were noncombatants, as Roebuck saw it. Seventeen bodies slumped over in Roebuck's path. Only six of them were gangsters, the others were dates and patrons. Collateral damage, Roebuck thought it unfortunate, but unavoidable.

The blaring music and strobe lights inside did not stop. There were shouts and two large men raced forward from the interior, pistols drawn. Roebuck fired on them before either could get off a shot. The Judge stepped through the doorway and over the bodies. It dawned on him; the music played in the interior of the Bar was so loud that nobody could hear the gunfire. The two that had just charged out were the only ones within audible range. He slid the Kalashnikov back under his overjack and proceeded down a flight of stairs.

The lower level of the Bar was used by the Firm for their illicit business. Roebuck had studied the plans and intelligence gathered by his brother. He was soon in a labyrinth of hallways that led to a series of different rooms. Each room served a different purpose, from labs for packaging drugs, to holding cells for prostitutes waiting to be shipped throughout the City, and even offices for business meetings.

Roebuck kicked open the first door he encountered. Inside, a dozen individuals were dressed in white with goggles and facemasks. They were in the process of bottling syntioum for distribution. Everyone in the room froze when they saw the figure in the balaclava. Roebuck took advantage of the inaction. He pulled the Kalashnikov from under his overjack and fired. The lab personnel scrambled to get to cover. Several were hit and shot dead where they stood. The impact of rounds striking throughout the room shattered vials of the drug, sending bursts of the liquid into the air. The tables in the room were very thin and Roebuck observed how easily the rounds traveled through them. He fired several bursts in the direction of where he saw people take cover.

The dust and debris in the room took a moment to settle. Roebuck had expended all of the ammunition in the drum magazine. He calmly removed the magazine and replaced it with a fresh one from the duffle. This was his only reload for this weapon. There were footsteps and shouts coming from the hallway. Roebuck was slightly amused by the lack of tactical prowess when responding to his intrusion.

The hallways were poorly lit with red bulbs at different intervals; serving as the only source of light. There happened to be a dark outcropping diagonally across from the door to the lab. Roebuck lifted the back of the Kalashnikov and smashed the solitary red light above the door, thus increasing the darkness. He ducked into the outcropping and waited patiently in the shadows. Five men appeared at the doorway and peered in. Roebuck observed that four were armed with pistols and the fifth, brandished a submachine gun.

The five began to talk amongst themselves. The armed gangsters were bunched together, as they peered into the lab at the same time. The Judge aimed the Kalashnikov and fired. The rounds ripped apart the cluster of men, who fell simultaneously. It was now time to move.

Roebuck turned to continue his attack, but there was someone at the far end of the hallway. The person fired three shots from a handgun at Roebuck. The first shot missed, as dust could be seen where it borrowed into the rockcrete wall. The two other rounds found their target and Roebuck felt himself thrown to the floor. Thinking quickly, he fired back and was able to drive off the attacker for the moment.

After a quick pat down of the impacted area, Roebuck discovered that the vest had stopped both rounds. The pain in his chest where the rounds impacted was excruciating, though. He scrambled back to his feet and kicked open a door he saw up ahead and to the right. It was an empty room with two other exits, one in front of him and one to his left. In a brazen maneuver, he crashed through the door on his left, which opened back into the hallway, around the corner from where the attacker fired. He surprised the man who had just shot him, as the man had not expected Roebuck to come this way. Roebuck fried a short burst and killed the man.

Down the long hallway in front of him, Roebuck spotted a door with a desk that guarded its entrance. He figured it must be an important office or the like, given that it had a receptionist's desk. It was toward this door that Roebuck made his way. Most of the opposition had been eliminated. He was worried about the amount of gunfire. The roar of music thundered from the club overhead, but how much of the shooting had it concealed?

The pain in his chest caused him to stop about halfway down the corridor to catch his breath. Roebuck placed a hand against the wall to support himself, as he breathed in and then exhaled. The pain was near crippling. He limped forward, still with his hand up to support himself against the wall. It was not long before he reached the door. Roebuck grasped the knob in his left hand and turned.

Mr. Reginald Kent was about middle aged. His well tailored suit and fine kept appearance exhibited his elevated status within the Sheffield Firm. Kent sat in the large vintage leather chair behind his ornate oak desk. The office was well appointed with expensive paneling and decorative tapestries. It varied in sharp contrast to the rest of the underground labyrinth. He calmly sipped his piping hot cup of tea. The steam rose around his aged face, as he prepared to meet the intruder.

The sight of the man's defiance and collectiveness caught Roebuck somewhat unexpectedly. This man stared contemptuously at Roebuck, as the Judge stormed into the room. The pride the man emanated, not one to set to flight, hide, or beg for mercy, was bold.

"So, after all these years," Kent spoke coolly. "He sends his brother to do his dirty work."

Roebuck lowered the Kalashnikov. He flipped on the weapon's safety. There was no need for the weapon at the moment. Roebuck let the man's words sink in. He pulled the balaclava off, Kent knew who he was.

"I'm not here for him," Roebuck said. "I don't give a damn about the quarrel between your two organizations. I'm here because this time, you've crossed the line."

Kent had a perplexed look on his face. Now, it appeared Roebuck had caught him off of his guard.

"I am afraid you have me at a loss," Kent spoke, a clear tone of uneasiness in his voice.

The response enraged Roebuck. He pulled the Kalashnikov up and flipped off the safety.

"You know exactly why the fuck I'm here," Roebuck hissed. "She is a civilian in this game of yours. You know you're not to involve her. So, I am only going to ask this once. Tell me where the fuck you are keeping my sister, Juliette!"

Kent took a casual sip of tea. It was to conceal his slowly oncoming nervousness of the situation. He maintained his composed exterior, but he realized the situation was rapidly dissolving. The idea crept into his head. Perhaps Warren Roebuck had not been so forthcoming with the entire truth. He realized there may be a way to talk through the situation. At the very least, he could stall until additional enforcers from the Firm arrived to deal with the younger Roebuck. Kent had tripped a silent panic alarm just prior to Roebuck's entry into the room.

"Well blow me down!" Kent said with amazement. "He hasn't told you?"

"Told me what!?" Roebuck demanded.

"My condolences old boy, I am sorry you'll get the news from me, like this. Your sister is dead. She's been dead for near a fortnight."

"How!?" said Roebuck, the rage in his voice was palpable.

"She overdosed on a bad batch of syntioum. Your brother went to great lengths to cover it up from the general public, and it appears you. Of course, it is not the easiest thing to conceal from our exclusive community."

Roebuck felt his mind being pulled in several directions at once. The truth was difficult to grasp. He could not accept it as truth. For whatever reason, Roebuck's encounter with the narcotic peddling young adult he fatally shot came to mind. He recalled what the dealer said, the recollection of seeing men come in a van and carry Juliette away. Could it have been the Coroners? Roebuck tried to press that out of his mind. There was movement in the hallway outside of the office.

Kent ducked beneath his desk in a quick motion. Roebuck caught on to what was happening. He lunged to the side, away from the path of the door. He found cover in the corner of the room next to a large bureau. A hail of automatic weapons fire splintered the door. The rounds embedded themselves in the desk and paneling directly opposite. The desk was reinforced. Roebuck observed the shots rip away sections of wood to expose a plasti-steel base. It provided a bulletproof refuge for Kent in an emergency.

Three thugs charged into the room. Roebuck aimed the Kalashnikov and fired at the men. They spun around and fell to the ground. There was a silence in the room. Kent assumed his men had the advantage in numbers and surprise. He peered out slightly from the safety of the desk. Roebuck waited patiently for this move. Kent stared down the barrel of the weapon.

"Enough," Roebuck started. "You'll tell me where she is!"

Kent slowly stood. He adjusted his suit jacket and brushed off the dust and other debris. Roebuck observed the gangster carefully, to make sure there were no sudden moves. It was clear Kent had underestimated Roebuck; the way this man fought his way into the building, past all of the armed men. He was a very dangerous man, who knew precisely what he was doing. The man could only be a Judge.

"What's it gonna be, eh?" Kent said. "Shoot me, torture me, neither one will bring back your sister…Lawman."

Roebuck grimaced at the remark. He did not want it known that he was a Judge, especially to these people.

"So the rumors were true," Kent started. "Warren's Yankee brother is a Mega-City Judge. You're a long way from home, Copper."

"You're stalling," said Roebuck.

"For the good that will do. Let's face it; I'll need an army to take you down. But, nonetheless, we're right back where we started. Your sister, I am afraid, is dead."

"You're lying."

"What do I possibly have to gain? I am already dead. And the truth is a far more potent weapon. You see here old boy, if I am lying about your sister being dead, well, I die and you eventually track her down. I tell you the truth, as I am now, I die and you go home to your brother with questions. It won't take you long to figure out she is dead, you are a Judge after all. Though, I would recommend your family's mausoleum to start. You will of course learn that your bother has been lying to you the entire time. You'll go back to him in a rage and cause all sorts of chaos I'd imagine."

Kent's words enraged Roebuck. He pointed the Kalashnikov directly at Kent and looked down the sights. The gangster laughed quietly at the predicament. Roebuck did not want to believe the man's words, but something did not make sense. The realization that the only course of action now was to kill Kent, not only for the reason's Kent gave Roebuck, but also the fact Kent had identified Roebuck. Roebuck squeezed the trigger and let out a small burst of automatic fire. Kent fell forward and slumped over the desk. A small puddle of blood began to pool under Kent, as it inundated the various objects on the desk's surface.

The purpose of the raid had been to obtain answers from Kent. Now, Kent was dead and Roebuck prepared to leave with more questions than when he originally started. Roebuck walked over to Kent's body and flipped the lifeless corpse onto its back. He quickly rifled through the deceased man's jacket pockets. The only item he recovered was a small oblong remote. To satisfy his curiosity, Roebuck pushed one of the buttons on the device. A section of paneling in the wall to his right retracted and exposed a staircase. The staircase appeared to head up toward the street level. Roebuck climbed up the stairs and forced open a set of overhead doors. He climbed up and discovered he was in an empty alley behind the Bar.

The sound of the distinctive slow two tone sirens of the Brit-Cit Judges wailed and grew louder. Roebuck had to make a quick escape, but knew there was little the Brit-Cit Judges could do. A panicked individual outside of the Bar may have made the initial call to report the shooting. The Judges would, of course, have to respond. In short order, the Firm would begin to conceal evidence and cover up access to the lower levels. The last thing they wanted were the Judges investigating their operation.

Roebuck cut through the alley and made his way unseen past several buildings. A few blocks away, a car waited to pick up Roebuck. He spotted the vehicle and climbed into the back seat. It was of minor annoyance that Karter was the one Warren sent to drive. The car took off with a screech of the tires, as it sped down the alley and made a sharp right hand turn onto the street. Roebuck leaned against the left side door, his head rested against the window. He ran over everything that happened, what Kent had told him, and the possibility that his sister was dead.

 **000**

 **Ruxton Towers, Brit-Cit**

 **0330 hours:**

Judge Roebuck threw open the doors into his brother's office on the penthouse level. He was surprised to see a group of about twenty of his brother's men standing around the desk. They appeared to be going over plans. A few of the men held various assault rifles, submachine guns, and shotguns at their sides. It could be assumed everyone at least had a pistol tucked somewhere on their person. Warren leaned forward over the desk and examined several electronic tablets that displayed various reports. His two hands were planted firmly to support him. He was dressed in his three piece suit, though the jacket was folded over his chair, and he wore a leather shoulder holster for his handgun.

"YOU!" Frederick Roebuck shouted, as he entered the room in a furry.

The entrance caught the attention of Warren's men, who casually displayed the fact they were well armed. Frederick stopped several paces from his brother's desk. Karter had followed Frederick into the room. He quickly moved in front of the Judge and reached for Frederick's holstered weapon. Frederick stood there, the rage manifesting, as Karter took possession of the Walther. To the side, Karter removed the magazine and pulled the slide back to eject the chambered round.

"Frederick, what the devil have you been up too?" Warren said, exaggerating his question.

"She's dead, she's been dead," Frederick shouted, emotion crept into his words. "And you knew, didn't you?"

"You're obviously very upset, little brother. Why don't you have a seat?"

Warren held out his right hand and motioned to a chair for his brother to take a seat. A gangster stepped forward and pulled the chair out. Roebuck walked to the chair and sat down. Another gangster, this man largely built, stood behind Roebuck and placed his hand on the Judge's shoulder to prevent any sudden movements.

"I am afraid our sister is dead," said Warren, his tone very relaxed.

"HOW!?" Frederick demanded.

"How do you think?"

"Drugs?"

"She was found overdosed from syntioum a fortnight ago. Unfortunately, the young man she had over that night reported it to the Judges before my boys could secure the scene. I had to go to great lengths to keep it out of the press. A few of the Judges on the Firm's payroll happened to be on the scene and reported back to their masters. The Firm believed me weak and they have been quite brazen of late."

"I thought you were supposed to be watching her? How was she able to get the drugs?"

"I sent my men into the neighborhood right after it happened, to ask some questions. They found out she was trading herself for the syntioum."

Frederick had a lot to take in and process. His brother had lied to him and manipulated him from the start. He was not sure if he wanted to pursue the questioning further. A moment passed, it felt like an eternity for Frederick.

"You're a real fucking degenerate, you know that?" Frederick said directly to his brother. "You knew she was dead, but you decided to use that to your advantage. You call me over here and concoct this elaborate kidnapping story. You play me and direct me to take out my anger on your enemy. That clears them out of the way and minimizes your involvement in their demise."

"And you play the part spectacularly," Warren said proudly. "I couldn't have the Sheffield Firm viewing me as weak, especially not now, with the transport contract on the line. The Firm was scheduled to host a few officials from the Ministry of Transport at the Milk Bar, at around midnight. That little episode you caused has the officials running scared. They've already called me in a panic. The contract is safe with Roebuck Corporation and we stand to make a fortune."

The Judge could feel the rage course through his veins. All he wanted was to leap forward and strangle the life out of Warren. The large gangster applied more pressure to Frederick's shoulder and kept him in the seat.

"Don't see it so negatively, John," Warren said. "After all, I took care of the man you shot and killed behind the coffee shop. Oh, that could have been quite an explanation to the Judges. And a suspect is currently sought in the massacre at the Burgess Milk Bar. It just so happens I have the weapon used in my possession. You left it in the car when you arrived."

"Blackmail now," Frederick said, disgusted. "So, you win in the end, you get what you want. The Firm is crippled and your contract is safe. But what's the cost? Your sister is dead, your brother hates you, but do you even care?"

"You could stay John," Warren said. "Take up your place in the family's company. Together, we can rule Brit-Cit's most powerful corporate entity."

The gangster took his hand off of Frederick's shoulder. Frederick stood up; the urge to strangle his brother had dissipated. He felt too disgusted with the truth he had learned, what he had done. He turned around and walked toward the door. The only thing he planned to do was to collect his things and be on next zoom to Mega-City One. Frederick paused for a brief moment at the door when his brother called.

"Is that your answer?" Warren said. "I am disappointed in you, John."

Frederick said nothing in reply. He continued out of the office and toward the guest room he had occupied. In a short while, he had gathered his things and boarded an elevator to the garage.

 **000**

 **Paddington Terminus, Brit-Cit**

 **0600 hours:**

Roebuck had been escorted the entire way to the Paddington Terminus by Karter. The vehicle idled at the curb in front of the Terminus. Karter turned around in the driver's seat to look at Roebuck. The gangster passed Roebuck's Walther, which had been confiscated earlier, back to the Judge. The ammunition, of course, was not returned. Karter also handed over a small envelope that contained the return ticket to Mega-City One. Roebuck took both items, the Walther he tucked into his shoulder holster and the ticket he pocketed inside his jacket.

The rain began when they left the Ruxton Towers and had not let up by the time they arrived at the Terminus. Roebuck opened the car door and grabbed his case. He exited the car and was immediately soaked by the famous torrential Brit-Cit rain. Karter gave one last crooked grin before he sped off. The zoom left in a few minutes, so Roebuck made his way toward the platform.

The sound of the rain was quite audible, as it struck the concaved glass roof of the Terminus. There was a busy rush of passengers throughout the Terminus, as they headed toward different trains, or toward the street. On a large newscreen within the concourse, a presenter for the _BCBC_ announced the Brit-Cit Justice Department had just arrested a suspect in connection with the "Milk Bar Massacre". It was announced a futsie was responsible. Roebuck could not decide if he was amazed at the speed in which the Firm covered up the incident, or appalled at the Brit Judges corruption. He then recalled the old saying about those in "glass houses" and smirked. Roebuck checked the departure screen and located his zoom.

Roebuck found an empty compartment and quickly occupied the seat. He pulled the blinds down that looked toward the interior corridor of the carriage and barred the door. This would prevent anyone else from joining him. He was not in the mood to put up with other traveler's right now. A few short minutes later, Roebuck felt the zoom begin to move. The lights in the tunnel outside of his window flashed by in short segments, as the zoom picked up speed.

The events of the past few days began to sink in for Roebuck. He felt betrayed by his brother; manipulated into doing the dirty work. He felt angry with himself, angry because he was not there to save his sister. The guilt now overtook him. There must have been something he should have done. Maybe he could have made Juliette move to Mega-City One? That way he could have kept an eye on her, their older brother surely was not.

Brooding on the past "what ifs" was pointless. Roebuck could see that. His job as a Judge gave him enough headaches worrying about decisions and different outcomes. He had spent the past few days dealing with the ugly world of his personal life. Now, he had to get back to his ugly one in the Mega-City.

 **000**


End file.
